La Banda de los Cubiertos
by IcyWaters
Summary: aka The Cutlery Gang. A rash of crimes, with only forks and spoons left behind. What does it all mean? Based on the Walt Disney Zorro series with a touch of Johnston McCulley.


Disclaimer: This story is based on characters appearing in the Walt Disney Zorro television series. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made. I don't own 'em, I'm just a fan wanting to keep the spirit of a favorite show alive.

Author's Note: File this one under 'silly.' A harmless anecdote inspired a screwball idea. No matter how hard I tried to shake it from my head, it stubbornly refused to leave. The result is below. Ida, this one's for you. :-)

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><p><strong><span>La Banda de los Cubiertos<span>**  
><strong>(aka The Cutlery Gang)<strong>

by  
>IcyWaters<p>

The magnificent black stallion flew over the dusty terrain of Los Angeles like a gust of wind sweeping in from the Pacific Ocean. His master's cape billowed in the breeze and the horse and rider moved as one. Galloping over hills and dashing through valleys, the duo could be glimpsed in the moonlight one minute and vanish in a blink of an eye the next.

Zorro was hot on the trail of a trio of bandits that had set their sights on his pueblo. A rash of bizarre crimes – and there was no other way to describe it – plagued the citizens. It all started two weeks ago with a missing horse.

After a joyous evening in the tavern, Don Audre Ruiz exited and found his prized mount gone. A single spoon lay on the ground. No one thought much of it until a beautiful chestnut mare went missing from Don Carlos Pulido's rancho. A single fork was lying in the dirt in the corral where the mare was free to roam.

There could be any number of explanations for one utensil at the scene of a crime, especially outside a tavern, but for another utensil to be discovered at a crime scene several miles away? No, it was a message. But what were these banditos trying to say?

Things proceeded to get even stranger when the reformed pirate Bardoso, who lived on the outskirts of the pueblo, walked to town and reported to Sergeant Garcia that his horse was stolen! He brought with him the object he found where his old nag should be: a wooden spoon with slits near the top, filed to points, puzzling the acting commandante who examined it.

Garcia eagerly recited the story to his friend Don Diego de la Vega over drinks in the tavern. He also regaled the haciendado with the story of another incident that was recently reported. A stagecoach was held up at the edge of the district by a trio of banditos, all with bandanas covering their faces and brandishing pistols.

They made off with nothing of value after one of the bandits tripped, accidentally discharged his pistol and nearly shot his compadre in the foot. The shock of nearly losing a toe caused that bandit to inadvertently fire his own pistol into a nearby tree. With laughter ringing out from the passengers and only one bandit remaining armed, the stagecoach driver reached for his rifle stashed on the floorboard.

The gang quickly fled the scene empty handed, yet quite probably relieved to have all of their extremities still attached. In their wake, one of them dropped a spoon.

Garcia shook his head as he related to Don Diego how the bumbling trio struck again just this afternoon. The merchant at the general store was robbed at gunpoint by three men. One of the bandits tripped and fell into a merchandise display, causing all the items to fall to the floor with loud clanks.

Afraid someone outside would hear the noise and investigate, they hastily exited the shop with no more than a few pesos…and one of the men dropped a fork!

"What does it all mean, Don Diego?" the sergeant asked, confusion etched on his chubby face.

"I do not know," the young don replied. _But I will soon find out._

And so the masked outlaw El Zorro set out on his trusty steed in search of these clumsy thieves. He started near the southern edge of the pueblo, not far from the merchant's store. Examining the road, he spotted the telltale signs of three sets of hoof marks: two with excellent gaits and a third with awkward footing, no doubt Bardoso's nag.

Following the tracks, he inwardly smirked, half-expecting a trail of utensils to lead him to the group. They managed to keep their forks and spoons under control, but it did not deter the fox. The hoof prints were easy enough to follow sans the aid of fallen cutlery.

Nearing a campfire, Tornado slowed his pace. Zorro slipped from the saddle and silently crept closer, using the brush as cover. Sure enough, three men perched around the warmth of the fire, fiddling with two pans. He listened in on the conversation.

Pulling tin plates from a satchel, the pudgiest of the gang asked, "Is supper almost done?"

"In a few more minutes," the skinniest man replied while stirring the contents of the pots.

"Good, I'm hungry," the third added, leaning over the dinner and inhaling the scent. His physique fell somewhere in between that of his amigos – not chubby, but not thin either. A utensil appeared in his right hand and he went to sample the meal.

"Hey," skinny shouted, slapping the hand away, "wait like the rest of us."

"But I'm hungry," he protested.

The fox chuckled. He almost – just almost – felt bad for interrupting their supper. With whip in hand, he emerged from the shadows. "Ah, señores, do you have enough for one more?"

"El Zorro!" they cried in unison, scrambling to their feet.

"Ah, so you know who I am," the masked man grinned, "I am flattered, but it seems you have an advantage over me. May I inquire who you are, señores?"

"We are La Banda de los Cubiertos," pudgy stated proudly, "and I am El Cuchara."

The Cutlery Gang? The Spoon? Under the mask, Zorro raised an inquisitive eyebrow. He had to admit the señor did bear a striking resemblance to a spoon, just as if a child fashioned a doll by tying several of them together.

"I am El Tenedor," skinny exclaimed. Long and lanky, and the tallest amongst his compadres, his limbs were reminiscent of the tines on a fork. Another aptly named bandit.

"Let me guess," Zorro said, gazing at the remaining man, "You are El Cuchillo, the knife."

"Madre de dios," he whispered, making the sign of the cross, "Do not say such things, El Zorro. If El Cuchillo thought I was using his name, he would slit my throat!"

The fox was truly curious, "Then what do you call yourself?"

"I am El Cuchador, the spork!"

"The spork?" Zorro repeated in disbelief. "What is that?"

Cuchador shook his head in apparent irritation. "It is the best traits of both utensils combined into one handy instrument," he explained. "It is the body of a spoon, perfect for soups, combined with the tines of a fork, perfect for main courses. Spoon plus fork equals spork."

Ah, that explained the wooden spoon with the slits Bardoso found. It was mangled on purpose. Zorro suppressed a laugh. With El Cuchador's plump middle and skinny legs and arms, he also vaguely resembled his namesake – even if he did have to invent the word.

"Well, Cubiertos, you reign of crime is over," the fox announced, "I am taking you to the cuartel."

"Never!" El Cuchara declared. "La Banda de los Cubiertos will never surrender without a fight!" He drew the pistol tucked in his sash and aimed it at the fox. With a single flick of his wrist, Zorro's whip sent the weapon flying from the man's grasp. Running after it, Cuchara tripped and fell into Cuchador and they both tumbled unceremoniously to the ground.

Zorro unsheathed his sword stepped closer to Tenedor.

"I give up," the fork said, tossing his pistol aside and raising his arms in defeat.

Tornado trotted over to his master, nudged him in the chest and neighed in aggravation.

"I'm sorry, boy," the fox apologized, "but I can't help that they did not put up a fight. Perhaps the next group of banditos will give you something more to do. For now, you can keep an eye on those two." He nodded to the bumbling thieves still struggling to their feet.

Tornado snickered, walked over to the babosos and reared high in the air. The color drained from the spoon and spork's faces. "Show off," Zorro muttered. Tornado neighed satisfactorily in reply.

Once the gang was securely tied up and atop their stolen horses, Zorro swung onto his stallion's back. Crooking his head, he looked at the motley group. One thing still puzzled him. "Tell me, señores, why steal two magnificent animals and one nag?"

"It's the only horse I could catch," the spork answered sheepishly.

Zorro laughed heartily and led the trio to the cuartel – and into the possession of a sleepy Corporal Reyes.

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><p>"They had saddlebags full of forks, spoons and these funny things they call sporks," Sergeant Garcia told Diego during lunch at the tavern the next afternoon. He showed his friend one of the curious implements.<p>

"No doubt they were all stolen," Diego remarked.

"Oh, there is no doubt of that," Garcia agreed.

"It is very strange, Sergeant," Diego said, observing the object.

"In theory, it is quite remarkable. It can be used to scoop up soup broths and to pick up meat. But I have tried it over and over, and I just cannot eat with it. It is okay for soft foods like enchiladas, but it does not work with slices of beef or chicken."

Diego smiled, knowing full well that the sergeant put the cuchador through a gamut of tests.

"It is a shame really," Garcia sighed, "A utensil like this would be wonderful for a soldier on maneuvers. One less thing to carry along and worry about…" He crinkled his brow, "Maybe if the tines were a little bit longer."

"Well, the important thing is you caught the banditos," Diego said, patting the sergeant on the back of the shoulder, "and our pueblo is safe once more. This calls for a toast." He raised his glass, "To the heroics of our acting commandante."

"Sí, I did catch them," Garcia boasted, grinning from ear to ear as he raised his mug and clanked it against the don's glass, "and I almost caught that rascal Zorro, too, until he got away."

The corner of Diego's lip curled up and merry sparks shone in his eyes as the sergeant recited a wild tale.

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><p>Bright, warm rays of morning sun peeked through partially drawn curtains, reflected off a mirror and landed softly on the sleeping figure in bed. Stirring from slumber, Diego rolled over and slowly opened his eyes. After a few minutes of lying there peacefully, he kicked the blanket off and swung his legs over the side.<p>

Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he stretched his arms and back. A knock on the door drew his attention. Before he could say 'enter', it opened and Bernardo strolled in. The mute smiled, went over to open the drapes and proceeded to set out his master's clothes for the day.

"I had the strangest dream last night, Bernardo."

The mute stopped his activities and looked at the young don.

"Have you ever heard of a spork?"

**The End**


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